


The Start Of A Good Joke

by WorseOmens



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack Fic, Don't Take This Too Seriously, Ineffable parenthood, M/M, just one of Her miracles, no pregnancy whatsoever, silliness, the ineffable plan, this is not mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:47:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorseOmens/pseuds/WorseOmens
Summary: What do you get when you cross a rebellious angel with a rogue demon?This, apparently.(Or: God decides to bestow a “blessing” upon the ineffable husbands... It turns out to be a bit of a handful.)(An egg mysteriously appears in the bookshop)
Relationships: Crowley/Aziraphale, Ineffable Husbands - Relationship, Ineffable dads - Relationship
Comments: 39
Kudos: 314





	1. Well, This Is A Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This has got to be the silliest thing I've written to date. I hope you enjoy it, cause I sure as hell did.

Crowley frowned deeply, staring. "Erm," he said shortly, tilting his head and taking a deep breath. "Was that... was that there before...?"

Aziraphale shook his head, equally as transfixed by the item. "I'm quite certain it wasn't," he said. 

A long pause stretched out between them. Neither dared to move off the bed, afraid that if they did, reality would realise its mistake and try rebooting itself entirely. Late morning sunshine filtered in through the window, onto the polished wooden floorboards of the master bedroom. It had been a sleepy Sunday morning before they'd noticed the object wedged between their chests. 

"Where did it come from?" Crowley said, finally looking up at his husband. He was floundering somewhere between shocked and exasperated. 

"I haven't a clue," he said in a small voice. "The windows and doors are locked, and I'm certain we'd have woken up, if anyone had broken in."

The demon nodded, sucking in his lips. "Are you sure that you didn't... y'know...?" he said tentatively.

Aziraphale looked up sharply, brow furrowed. "I think I would have noticed if I'd laid an egg in my sleep, Crowley," he said scathingly. 

He looked back down at the egg on the mattress between them. It was around the size of a football, bright white with jet black speckles. The demon hummed in acknowledgement. "Yeah, that probably would have hurt," he muttered, grimacing. He reached out to touch it, only for Aziraphale to smack his hand away.

"Don't poke it!" he cried.

"What else are we gonna do?" he said, throwing his arms up. "Just leave it here?"

"We don't know where it came from," he said, sliding backward off the bed and coming around to Crowley's side. "It could be a trap."

The demon eyed it sceptically. Aziraphale's movement had disturbed it, tilting it on its side. His gaze tracked over the black-and-white shell, and his tongue flickered out to taste the air. "Doesn't smell dangerous," he said. He paused, sniffing again. "It smells... like us."

"What?" the angel said, crying out again in alarm as Crowley reached out to the egg. He was too slow to stop him this time, and he'd soon pulled it into his lap. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"Angel, I'm telling you, this isn't just some random heavenly prank," he said, holding it up and turning it around to get a closer look. He could feel Aziraphale staring curiously over his shoulder. "I think this is ours."

"That's preposterous," he said, straightening up and crossing his arms haughtily. "We're sexless in our true forms. We can't procreate."

He cocked a brow. "But what if She - " he said, glancing pointedly toward the ceiling " - decided to make an exception?"

Aziraphale paused. His eyes flicked between his husband, and the large egg in his hands. "I suppose it's possible, but... an egg?" he said, deeply confused. 

"We've got wings. I suppose that's close enough to being a bird. Snakes lay eggs, too," he said with a shrug, setting the egg back down in his lap.

"Yes, but why not just give us the child?" he said impatiently, beginning to pace restlessly. 

"Well, it's like you once told me," he replied smugly, giving him a sly glance from the corner of his eye. "Best not to speculate."

He gave a reluctant smile, rolling his eyes fondly. "Ah, yes. Ineffability, I almost forgot," he said. He edged closer, perching beside Crowley. He sighed, and added in a petulant undertone: "Though I rather think that the Almighty chose to forget that Sunday is supposed to be the day of rest..."

They fussed and bickered for at least an hour over what to do with the egg. They were keeping it, there was no question about that. What they couldn't agree on, however, was how they ought to take care of it. 

"It needs warmth," Aziraphale said with conviction, his eyes glued to a book that he'd claimed would help. "There's a footnote here that suggests a particular brand of electrical incubator, though it's perhaps a smidge on the small side for our... our... thing."

"Egg," Crowley said irritably, resting his head on his fist. They had holed up in the back room of the bookshop, with the egg nestled safely on a pile of cushions on an armchair for the time being. "We don't need an incubator."

"But the book says - "

"That's a book on hen farming, Aziraphale. We aren't giant chickens!" he said, rolling his eyes. "I say we just follow our instincts. What's the worst that could happen?"

The angel looked affronted. "Well!" he said, snapping the book closed, and Crowley knew he was in for a lecture. "The egg may crack, for a start. It might not grow properly - or worse, it might not hatch at all!"

"Oh, says you, who was all for chucking it in the Thames this morning," he said, standing up to stretch his legs. He could never stay still while they argued. 

"I never said anything of the sort," he said shortly. He set the book down, and something occurred to him. "Though I suppose there might be something in what you say... Wait there, my dear."

He could feel Crowley's curious gaze on his back as he left the room. He headed down to the basement, where he kept all the clothes he no longer used, looking for something very specific. In reality, he'd thrown it out years ago, but since he'd completely forgotten that fact, he happened to find it right where he last remembered putting it. He picked up the wicker basket, turning it over in his hands. He nodded, and grabbed a few plush blankets on his way back upstairs.

He put the basket down on the table, beside a stack of books. Crowley looked up, tilting his head. "What's this?"

"The nest," he replied, tucking blankets into the basket to create a soft bed. He picked the egg off the armchair, nestling it among the carefully prepared bedding. "You said we should follow our instincts, and this is my feeling."

The demon nodded, coming over to rest his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder. "I have a heatlamp somewhere upstairs we can use," he said. "One question, though."

"Hm?"

"Do the blankets have to be tartan?" he said plaintively. 

The basket stayed with one of them at all times. In the evenings, they set up a heatlamp over the top of it, or kept the egg close to their own body warmth. When that wasn't possible, they filled the basket with hot water bottles wrapped in blankets, and closed the lid. It was usually sat on Aziraphale's counter if he had to open the shop, which happened even less than usual now he was an expecting parent. A few people asked what was inside, and his responses were variable:

"Oh - this? Just some new books, very precious, so I'm keeping them close."

"Crowley and I are having a picnic later, so I thought it would pay to be prepared."

"It's a priceless sculpture, please don't touch."

Or, if he was feeling particularly peevish that day: "It's empty."

Aziraphale was well aware that not everyone believed him. He had never been the best liar, after all. He was proud of that. Still, he had enough of a reputation for eccentricity that hardly anyone questioned him more than once. Not everyone was kind enough to curb their curiosity, however. An insistent teenager had begun to test his patience. 

"What's inside?" he asked, leaning forward in his elbows. 

"Nothing you need to worry about," he'd replied, taking umbridge to the young man's boisterous attitude immediately.

"Why, is it weird?" he pushed, sneering.

"Do you intend to buy anything, child, or are you simply here to irritate me?" he said sharply, subconsciously raising his voice. One of his regular customers (or rather, non-customers, who knew better than to attempt a purchase) looked up in surprise. The tranquility of the bookshop was very rarely disturbed, especially not by Mr Fell himself. 

"I just want a look inside," he said, rolling his eyes and reaching for the lid of the basket.

Aziraphale's hand snapped on top of it before his fingers even brushed the woven surface. "Get out," he said, in a quiet undertone.

"What?" the boy said, drawing back, baffled.

"Get. Out!" he barked, moving as if to come around the desk and physically force him from the shop.

"Woah! I'm going, I'm going!" he cried, eyes widening. He tripped over his own feet, rushing to the door with a few fearful glances over his shoulder at the old bookkeeper. 

Aziraphale watched him go. His eyes tracked him through the window until he had gone out of sight at the other end of the street. Since the egg arrived, he’d discovered another part of his personality, something that was perhaps in-built in his angelic nature. It was ferociously territorial. It wanted nothing to go near the nest, apart from him and Crowley. When the teenager was out sight, he relaxed again, returning to the stool behind the counter. Someone cleared their throat.

"You sure are protective over that basket, Mr Fell," one of his regulars commented with an air of surprise. They'd never seen him do anything worse than frown, let alone try to throw someone out. This was bizarre, even for him. 

"Quite," he replied, with a voice that said _ go on, ask, I dare you _. 

With a slow nod, the reader turned their gaze back onto the book in their lap. They'd seen some weird stuff in all the years they'd visited AZ Fell's, and if they hadn't learnt not to ask questions, they'd never have been allowed to keep coming back. Besides, anyone around here knew that no matter how sweet, or harmless, or hapless he might seem... Mr Fell was not a man to be trifled with. 

Days at the shop were quiet, pelting it down with rain outside, which was Aziraphale’s favourite kind of day. He opened for one hour in the morning, just to save face, and flipped the sign to closed after no one came in. 

"Oh, don't you just love the rain?" he said, smiling at the fogged-up windows of the shop and the empty street beyond. No one responded. Aziraphale had taken to talking to the egg as if it could hear and understand him, which he reasoned it might well do. Crowley teased him for it... nevermind that the demon played music and sang lullabies for it while he thought Aziraphale couldn't hear. 

He checked the clock. Crowley was due to arrive any moment, and the hot water bottles were still warm. He took a few moments to check the eggshell over for any sign of cracks or damage, and found none. Satisfied that everything was in order, he tucked it safely back into the nest, and headed into the back room. He'd only intended to be gone for a minute or so, but he was hit with the sudden desire for a cup of tea. He ventured upstairs, wondering if the kettle was still full from yesterday.

Outside, a vague silhouette jogged along the pavement. Pete had been caught out in the rain. His jacket had no hood, and the waterproofing had clearly been false advertising, because he was soaked to his skin. He stumbled along the path, wiping rainwater out of his eyes. He caught a glimpse of a large building on the corner with the lights still on. It looked warm and safe. Squinting against the downpour, he ran over to the door, too blinded by the water to have noticed the closed sign. 

The bell jingled over his head. He rubbed his eyes furiously, and looked up. He'd entered a bookshop, chock full of ancient, dusty old tomes, many with rough hand-cut pages and worn bindings. He leaned forward, peering along the aisles formed by the tall shelves. 

"Uh... hello?" he called tentatively. These kinds of places weren't usually his thing, and he half-expected a fussy old librarian to run out and start shushing him. 

Instead, it was eerily quiet. The only thing proving that time hadn't stopped altogether was the sound of rain driving against the window. He shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the hook by the door. It dripped onto the floorboards. Luckily, the room was warm, though he couldn't see any radiators. He hoped he'd at least be able to skulk around in here until the rain stopped. Finally, his eyes landed on the basket on the front desk. It was doing its best impression of a ubiquitous part of the scenery, but not quite managing it. He edged forward. Something about it piqued his interest.

"Hey, 'scuse me, anyone there?" he called out again, just for good measure. He didn't exactly want to get caught digging around in other people's things, after all. 

Slowly, he lifted the lid of the wicker basket. He squinted into the shadows inside, pierced only by the thin shafts of light from the gaps in the woven walls. An enormous egg sat amongst many layers of tartan cushioning, and the whole basket radiated warmth. He hummed inquisitively, reaching inside to lay his fingertips on the eggshell. 

The bookshop door slammed open. Pete jumped, sharply withdrawing his hand from the basket and turning. He had just enough time to register the pale, snarling face coming toward him before he was being grabbed by his shirt and thrown against the nearest bookshelf. It shuddered, but knew better than to fall. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Crowley said through gritted teeth. His lip was curled up to expose one long fang, though Pete wouldn't notice that until he thought back to it later. 

"L - look, mate, I just came in to get out the rain - " he stammered, blood rushing in his ears. The shelf dug into his back, and the demon's cold breath on his face made him shiver to his core. 

"Then what were you doing with your filthy mitts in that basket?" he said, tightening his grip on his shirt until threads began to snap and his knuckles left bruises on his chest. 

"I was curious!" he said, trying to shy away.

"Did you touch it?" he demanded, scanning his face from behind his dark glasses. "The egg, did you touch it?"

Pete gulped, and decided that lying would only put him in bigger trouble. "Y - yeah, a bit," he said.

"A bit?" Crowley raged. If Pete hadn't known any better, he'd have said that he got even taller as he towered over him. "What did you do? _ What did you do? _"

He was about to stammer out another response, when a set of footsteps began to approach. A white-haired man appeared in the doorframe, a floral teacup in his hands and a mildly concerned look on his face. Pete slumped slightly, thinking he was saved. The bookshop owner probably wouldn't want an assault to happen in his shop, and he'd surely boot this lunatic out. 

"Crowley?" he said, tilting his head. Pete's anxiety redoubled when the man didn't look half as surprised as he'd have expected. "What are you doing?"

Crowley turned to look over his shoulder. "Just found this... _ customer, _ with his hands in the wicker basket," he said, voice dripping with spite.

Aziraphale's expression suddenly dropped all its warmth. His eyes went wide, and his jaw set hard as he rushed over to the basket. He spilt his tea putting it down on the counter, and hardly noticed. He lifted out the egg. Handling it like a delictate antique, he checked it over meticulously. Crowley waited for a verdict. If there was so much as a scratch on that shell, there'd be missing posters out for this human quicker than he could snap his fingers. Eventually, Aziraphale sighed in relief, and gently replaced the egg in its nest.

"It seems perfectly fine," he said, pressing a hand over his heart to calm its erratic fluttering. Most of the tension drained out of the demon's shoulders in response, and he muttered vague praises to an ambiguous greater power under his breath. 

Pete finally reached the end of his tether. "Are either of you two nutjobs going to tell me what's going on?" he exclaimed. "What's so important about some ostrich egg anyway?"

He immediately regretted his outburst. Two hard, celestial glares snapped onto him, unforgiving and unrelenting. He shrunk back, the blood draining from his face as something indistinct within his soul recognised the combined wrath of Heaven and Hell. Aziraphale eventually managed to pull the thin line of his mouth apart enough to form a sentence.

"Crowley... show him out, please," he said curtly. He took the basket off the counter, and made for the back room.

"With pleasure, angel," he said with perverse satisfaction.

Pete was flung from the bookshop door with surprising strength, for a man so thin. A surprised pedestrian jumped backwards as he sprawled out insensibly on the wet pavement, a muddy puddle forming just in time to ruin his shirt. Crowley loomed in the doorframe of the shop.

"Read the sign next time, genius," he hissed, slamming the door shut behind him so hard that the shopfront quaked. 

Pete pushed himself up from the ground on shaking limbs. The pedestrian who had seen the altercation helped him to his feet with a sympathetic smile. They glanced up at the sign over the shop, and tutted fondly.

"Let me guess - you tried to buy a book?" they said, with a hint of amusement.

He gawked. "No?" he said, outraged and confounded. What was wrong with these people? 

Inside, Crowley dusted off his hands. Aziraphale was waiting for him in the back room, flicking through his record collection. The egg was on a velvet pillow on the low coffee table, under a heat lamp. He could still see the tension in the angel's shoulders.

"He's gone, angel," he said, sitting on the sofa near the egg. "You can relax."

"It's not that I'm worried about," he said, setting up the record on the gramophone. Soft, calming classical music flooded the room. "I... I wasn't there."

Crowley's brow furrowed. "Nothing happened, Aziraphale," he said, leaning forward on his knees. 

"But something could have!" he cried, turning to face him. He was stricken. The last time Crowley remembered seeing him so distraught was when he had admitted to handing his flaming sword to Adam and Eve. 

"You couldn't have known," he said, shuffling to the side and patting the sofa cushion. Still agitated, Aziraphale sat down beside him, allowing himself to be held. "The shop was closed. He shouldn't have even been in here."

The angel sighed, leaning on his shoulder more heavily with his eyes fixed on the velvet cushion. "Oh, but you know how I fret..." he murmured. 

"Yeah, I do," he said, rolling his eyes. "Look, let's talk about something else. Sell any books today?"

He snorted. "Heavens, no."

"That's a win, then," he said, miracling him a fresh cup of tea and placing it in his hands. "We haven't thought of names yet, have we?"

"For the egg?" he said, sipping the tea. Crowley pulled back, draping himself over the armrest to look at him properly. 

"It won't be an egg forever," he said, gesturing toward it vaguely. "It'll hatch at some point. When it does, whatever comes out is going to need a name."

Aziraphale paused, his teacup hovering just beneath his nose. "What do you mean, whatever comes out?" he said, placing the cup onto its saucer and fixing him with a look of cautious confusion. 

"Of the egg," he said, slouching lower into the sofa until he was practically lying down. Aziraphale still looked lost. "Well, it's not going to be human, is it?"

"No... but it will be something like us," he said, his voice climbing into a higher register as his uncertainty mounted. "Wouldn't you say?"

He shrugged. "No clue. What do you get when you cross a rebellious angel with a rogue demon?" he said, then snorted. "Sounds like the start of a bad joke."

"Yes, well, I shan't be laughing if - ” Aziraphale began, but suddenly frowned with a tilt of his head. "Did you hear that?" he said, after a short silence.

"Hear what?"

He got up from the sofa, turning off the music. He strained his hearing again. "A scratching noise," he said. Crowley sat up, paying attention.

"Yeah, I do," he said in surprise. They both looked around the back room, baffled, their shared brain cell almost burning itself out with all the thinking they'd been doing.

"There had best not be any rodents in my shop, or there shall be Hell to pay," Aziraphale muttered under his breath, stalking around his piles of books, shifting them aside as if he might catch a small, fluffy menace hiding beneath them. 

"Uh, angel..."

"Yes?" he called, hearing Crowley's voice behind him. He scanned the skirting boards, searching for any ghastly little holes gnawed in the wood. He'd had a rodent problem only once before, and he'd been quite sure that no mouse would dare set foot in his shop again after how he'd dealt with it. 

"It's not rats," the demon said. It was the terrified undertone in his voice that made Aziraphale finally turn around.

His jaw dropped. The egg was moving, tilting minutely back and forth on the cushion with desperate scratching noises coming from inside. He was by Crowley's side again in an instant, clutching his arm so hard that he hissed in pain. He didn't complain beyond that. It was a grounding feeling, and he was in dire need of it. 

There was a more insistent shuffle, and the whole egg suddenly tilted on its side. Crowley made a choked noise, heart jumping at the motion. Aziraphale let out a protracted cry, pulling Crowley into a deathgrip around his chest. Neither dared touch the egg. They were terrified of disturbing the process, yet also terrified that it would go wrong. 

A new sound began to emerge. A tiny, near inaudible crack reached their ears. Both of them immediately stopped breathing, going as still as statues as they sat entangled, useless and utterly hysterical on the sofa. A flake of eggshell dropped onto the table. Out of the hole it left, a bright blue eye, sliced down the middle with a dark slit, stared out into a bright new world. 

"They have your eyes," Aziraphale and Crowley whispered in stunned unison. 

Whatever was inside, it couldn't wait any longer. A louder crack broke the quiet, and shards of eggshell were flung in every direction across the room. Crowley flinched as a few pieces bounced off his sunglasses. Aziraphale shied away just in time to shield his face. There was a gurgling cry, and the two celestial beings finally clapped eyes on their newborn.

The first piece of information they had to digest is that it didn't even bear a passing resemblance to a human. Squirming on its back was an oddly proportioned lizard-like thing, with long legs and a whip-like tail. On the tip of the tail and gathered under its short arms, there were plumages of luminous white feathers. Upon further inspection, dark feathers coated the creature's black scales in several places, slicked down by the embryonic fluid from the egg. It rolled over, struggling up. Its clawed feet scrabbled for purchase on the table, and it squawked in alarm as it struggled to stand, like Bambi on ice. Finally, it turned its sharp blue gaze on its parents. It tilted its head, its pointed snout wrinkling as it sniffed the air. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale said slowly, unable to move his eyes away. "Have you any idea...?"

The demon opened his mouth, and left it for long moment before speaking. "Uh... " he said dumbly. "Look, angel, don't freak out..."

The feathered lizard-thing was looking between them curiously, puffing out its feathers to dry them off. It wasn't succeeding, but it seemed undeterred. It had a long, hooked claw on each foot, which bit into the antique coffee table. 

"I am well past that stage already, my dear," he replied, patting him gently on the knee. The hatchling must have taken this as an invitation, because it cawed in delight and flung itself into Crowley's lap. The demon grunted, now with a surprisingly hefty infant something-or-other on top of him. It immediately began rubbing on his shirt, drying its feathers.

He grimaced. "I've seen these before, on one of those documentary things," he said, unable to help himself from cradling the odd little monster. It was his, after all.

"Well, out with it!" Aziraphale urged. He reached out to the creature, gently scratching the small crest on its head. 

"It's a velociraptor," he said bluntly. 

Aziraphale blanked. "A what," he said, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

"Well... You remember, before the Fall, how the Almighty put all those old bones and fossils in the ground, and told us all that it was the setup for a great joke she was planning?" he said.

"Yes..."

They both looked at the dinosaur in his lap, which opened its mouth in what appeared to be a grin. It was thrilled to be getting so much attention.

"I think she just delivered the punchline," Crowley said flatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tune in next time for some ~dinosaur shenanigans~
> 
> (Don't pick me up on my bad dinosaur knowledge, I already know. My excuse is that because dinosaurs didn't actually exist in the GO universe, I can write about them with as much artistic licence as I can write about unicorns and dragons and pixies)


	2. Ineffable

Crowley took the velociraptor into the kitchen, rinsing it clean in the sink with warm water. He wiped the feathers with a soft cloth, and it began to let out a low, throaty purr, happy for the contact. Aziraphale sat on the table behind him, unable to move his eyes away.

"This is... unprecedented," he said eventually. Without the eggshell between them, they could feel the mottled, baffling aura rolling off the creature. It was neither ethereal, nor occult, but... something else. 

"I'm glad you didn't say ineffable for once," he replied, smiling as the dinosaur stared up at him, wagging its tail. 

"It's that, too," he said, shooting an anxious glance toward the ceiling.

"Maybe we should call her Effie. Short for Ineffable," he joked, lifting her out onto the draining board. He heard a thoughtful hum behind him, and twisted around with a frown. "Hey, no. That was a joke. Don't take that seriously."

"What? Effie is a lovely name," he said, grabbing a towel and walking over. He began to dry off the black feathers coating her body. 

"Don't start calling her that, or it'll stick," he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter. 

"Oh, Effie, darling, what's he saying?" he cooed, ignoring him completely. Effie squawked, fluffing out her newly dried feathers. He scratched under her chin. He looked more closely at her, at the soft, downy baby feathers covering her body, contrasting sharply against the bright white ones on her tail and under her stubby arms.

Crowley groaned, burying his hands in his face. "Me and my fat mouth..."

The shop stayed closed for nearly a week after Effie hatched. She spent much of her time getting the hang of walking, often slipping over and bashing her chin against the floor. Every time she fell, Aziraphale gasped and began fussing over her, scooping her up into his arms and soothing her. Crowley told him not to panic so much - ignoring the fact that he cried a bit when he accidentally stood on her tail once. 

Effie displayed many traits from both the angelic and the demonic blood in her veins. She revelled in any kind of affection, and she could often be found curled up on one of her fathers' laps on a cosy evening after dinner. Aziraphale took great pains to make her hearty meals, packed with protein. It was mostly eggs and various kinds of neatly sliced raw meats, painstakingly picked free of small bones, which Crowley was able to get his hands on from a high-end butcher who owed him one. Effie had a mischievous streak, too. She had taken to playing hide-and-make-my-fathers-panic-for-an-hour, and regularly found herself in the time-out basket. Crowley was constantly amazed that Effie respected them enough to stay in the basket (the same which her egg had been kept in), though he didn't have the heart to make her stay in there for long. He was a bit of a pushover when it came to those bright blue eyes.

"She looks hungry," Crowley said one evening, looking at the dinosaur perched on the high chair. She prodded her food dish with her nose, snuffling as if hoping more would materialise. "How much did you feed her?"

"The normal amount," Aziraphale said, wiping his mouth. "But I see what you mean... shall I give her seconds?"

"I'll get it, don't worry," he said, making his way to the fridge. He took out another bag of beef mince (usually reserved for lunchtime; he wasn't standing around picking out bones at this time of night). He tipped it into Effie's food bowl, who gave a happy wiggle and tucked in.

"She picked that up from you," Crowley said, giving her a pat on the head. 

"What?"

"That little wriggle," he said, grinning. Aziraphale pouted, sipping at his tea. "Oh, don't give me that look. It's cute."

Over the next few days, Effie became ravenously hungry. She began to eat twice her regular amount, then three times, then four... The more she ate, the more she grew. She had begun life around the same size as a chicken but, the more downy baby feathers she shed, the more it became clear she wouldn't stay that way. Her adult coat was sleek, hugging a well-muscled body which concealed terrifying strength. Her back was now level with Aziraphale's hip, and every step she took thumped hard against the floorboards. Her tail was getting unwieldy, often knocking over stacks of books or breaking porcelain mugs until they had to reorder the whole shop. Crowley called it "baby-proofing". 

Aziraphale had to reopen his shop eventually. Crowley agreed to stay in the back room and watch Effie during the day, who often got restless in the cramped space. The most fresh air she got was when they took her up to the shop's newly installed rooftop garden, safe from prying eyes. The demon watched her pacing back and forth, scratching at the floorboards idly with a long curled claw. He sighed.

"Effie," he called, holding out his hand. She looked up, tilting her head slightly. The plume on her head fluffed up slightly as she came forward, resting her chin in his palm. "Getting restless again, are we?"

She let out a puff of air from her snout. She couldn't talk in words, and he doubted she ever would, but she seemed to understand when they spoke. They were picking up slowly on the ways she liked to communicate; there was no handbook on velociraptor body language, but Aziraphale was starting to put one together. 

"I can't take you out to the garden yet. There's too many people on the street," he said remorsefully, gently stroking her head. "We don't want anyone to see you, or they - they might -"

She let out an alarmed noise, lifting her head. She had always been good at picking up on their distress. He'd been on the receiving end of human cruelty many times. Sometimes, they hated what they couldn't understand. Other times, they were so recklessly committed to understanding everything that they often ended up destroying it in the process. Thinking about what would happen to his baby if a human ever got their hands on her, well... it made him sick. He looked away, not wanting to upset her, but she'd already seen. She pushed herself up onto his lap, winding him, but determined to make him feel better. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her.

"Thanks, Effie," he said. He slumped back into the sofa. "Let's take a nap. Just ten minutes, okay?”

She gave a noise of affirmation, tucking her nose under her tail. She drifted off into her usual strange dreams about a soft female voice and vast open fields, and jolted awake almost an hour later. She lifted her head slowly. Her father's chest rose and fell in a steady sleeping rhythm. She knew he enjoyed sleeping, even if he didn't need it, and she didn't like to mess things up for them. She had been trying to keep her tail low recently so she didn't knock any of her father's books over; she knew how it upset him, even if he never got angry at her for it. Her body was far too big and clumsy to live in such narrow spaces, she knew that. Sometimes she wondered if she should just sit still all day instead. 

A little dejected with herself, she carefully slid off the sofa. Her claws clacked against the floor as she did her best to tiptoe quietly toward the shopfront, nudging open the door. Her wide blue eyes scanned back and forth. She couldn't see anyone. Wanting a hug, she slipped through the door and began searching for her other father. His hugs were soft and warm; Crowley's were still nice, but he was cold-blooded like her, and they both enjoyed Aziraphale's body warmth. 

The angel in question was currently re-shelving some books, holding half a conversation with a customer. He was hoping that if he showed enough disinterest, they'd get frustrated and go away. They were certainly annoyed, but not yet leaving. 

"Well, that's as may be, but - "Aziraphale said, about to give a clipped comment about the customer's view on Shakespeare when the sound of heavy footfalls reached his ears. He took a sharp breath; they were coming closer. "Let me - erm - let me show you what I mean."

The customer looked vaguely surprised as they were quickly ushered out of the aisle, toward the shelf of plays. Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder in paranoia. He knew Effie's footsteps too well to be mistaken, and he couldn't let her be seen. Aziraphale pointed at the spines of the books, beginning to spout obscure trivia about them which was vaguely related to his point, all the while keeping an ear out for the sound of claws on wood.

"Er - yeah, that's interesting," they said uncertainly. "Are you okay, Mr Fell?"

"Hm? Me? Oh, yes, yes, absolutely... absolutely tickety-boo," he said, clearly distracted as he strained his neck to look down the next aisle. "Will you be needing anything else today?"

"I still want to buy that antique Widle," they said.

Aziraphale soured. He'd rather sell his left leg. "I'm afraid it's completely out of your price range."

"I haven't even told you my price range!" they exclaimed, throwing up their arms in exasperation.

"Irrelevant, I should think. I must warn you of its exceptional price. I am nothing if not - _Effie!_" he said, barking out her name as her snout poked out from the aisle behind the customer.

"What?" they said, frowning.

"Erm," he said, fixing his eyes on the scaley nose until it withdrew back out of sight. "I am nothing if not - um - ethical."

"Really?" they said, crossing their arms. "Look, I don't care what your deal is, I just want to - what the _fuck_ is that?"

The customer lurched back, jabbing a finger at something behind him. His heart clenched, spinning around. His stomach dropped as he saw Effie, cowering close to the floor with wide, fearful eyes which didn't fully comprehend the situation, but knew that it was bad. Aziraphale gave a cry of panic, rushing to scoop her up from the floor.

"It's - it's a fucking dinosaur!" the customer shrieked, still pointing. "How the fucking hell did you get hold of a dinosaur?"

"Please, watch your language!" he bit back, his unnatural strength allowing him to hold his daughter close to his chest. She was quivering from shock, burying her face in his jacket to block out the shouting and the choking smell of adrenaline in the air. "She is only young, you are frightening her!"

The customer spluttered, fumbling in their pockets. "I gotta get a picture of this - "

As soon as Aziraphale caught sight of the phone in their hand, he impulsively snapped his fingers. The screen exploded outwards in a cloud of sparks, sending a fine shower of glass across the floor. The customer shrieked. "What the f - ?"

"Language!" Aziraphale shouted. They fell silent, both of them panting as they tried to figure out their next move. There was a thump and a bang from the next room, and Crowley stumbled into the shop. 

"E - Effie? Angel?" he said, breaking into the tense scene. He froze as he met eyes with the customer, swallowing hard as reality hit like a freight train. "Ah."

"This - this is insane. You people are just - what - running Jurassic Park in the middle of Soho?" they said, gesturing to Effie. They breathed heavily. "How is that...? I mean? _Dinosaurs?_"

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a panicked glance. "Er - well," the angel began.

"The thing is..." Crowley said, and they quickly began talking over one another in a confusing tangle of words.

"Effie here isn't really a - a - resurrected..."

"It's none of your beeswax anyway, mate."

"It's hard to - "

"I mean, Jurassic Park, really? That's the best you got? You're thirty years behind the times, aren't you?"

Eventually, Aziraphale let out a cry of frustration. "Oh, bugger it," he said, glaring. "No one will ever believe you."

He snapped his fingers again, and the customer vanished. Crowley jumped, staring at him in disbelief. "Where did you send them?"

"Home," he replied, readjusting his grip on Effie and taking her back to the living room, where she wouldn't be seen. 

He put her down on the sofa. He and Crowley stood in front of her, and she bowed her head sheepishly. Crowley wore a similar expression to the one he used to discipline his plants, and Aziraphale looked deeply, unbearably hurt. "Now, Effie," he began, voice wavering with emotion. "That was extremely irresponsible of you. I thought you knew better..."

She let out an indignant squawk in her defence. Crowley crossed his arms. "Don't talk to your father like that," he said sharply. "He's trying to keep you safe. You know it's dangerous for humans to see you, Effie."

She let out a dejected whine, burying her nose in a cushion. "Look at us when we're speaking to you, please," Aziraphale said sternly. With a huff, she lifted her head again. "You should never go into the shop front without someone with you, and especially not when it's open."

"We don't want to be angry with you, Effie, but this needs to stop right now," Crowley said, his yellow eyes boring into her. "This can't happen again. You could have been hurt. Are we clear?"

She looked at the floor, giving a slight ruffle of her feathers in acknowledgment. "Effie..." Aziraphale said, warning. Relenting, she nodded clearly, and that seemed to make them relax.

"Thank you," he said, breathing a deep sigh of relief. "I'll close up the shop for the rest of the day, and we'll spend the afternoon as a family, how about that?"

She took a gasp, bouncing down onto the floor with a happy wiggle. Aziraphale smiled fondly, scratching under her chin. "I think that's a yes," he said. "Go upstairs, dear, we'll be with you in a moment."

She chirped, and bounded off up the stairs. Crowley watched her go, tension still lingering in his body, and turned back to his angel. "We can't reward behaviour like that. You know what humans are like. They’d only be interested in pulling her apart to see how she works if they ever got their hands on her.”

"Oh, don't," Aziraphale pleaded, distressed. "It's too terrible to think of."

"That's why I'm saying it!" he replied, irate. He stepped closer, tilting his head up to face him. "If we don't do something about this, something's going to go wrong and we could lose her for good, angel."

He sighed deeply. "I know. I've been giving it some thought, too," he admitted, taking his hand. "She's still growing, and the roof garden won't be enough soon. She needs more space, somewhere she can run around and get plenty of fresh air without being seen."

"Agreed," he said. "Where were you thinking?"

"Well... I've been speaking to some builders, and we could have a little place built to our own specifications for a very reasonable price," he said, testing the waters carefully. "There's a plot of land in the South Downs that I've owned for centuries, and I've never done anything with it. It's very remote, and spacious."

He hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles. “Well, in that case,” he said with a soft smile, “we’d better find ourselves a decent architect.”

A pale mist hung low across the downy hills, aglow with the orange light of dawn. A sizeable cottage sat in a sheltered spot along the ridge, with long windows to welcome the light and a gnarled apple tree at the foot of the garden fence. The fence itself was purely an aesthetic choice; there wasn’t a mortal soul for miles around, and the land all belonged to the pale figure upon the rocking chair on the porch. Aziraphale kept one eye on his book and the other on Effie, who had grown almost to the size of a horse in the years since they’d moved out of London. It had been the best decision they’d ever made for her. She was happy exploring the valleys and fields of her fathers’ land, tracking streams to their source and coming home with mud in her feathers and a twinkle in her eye. 

The front door opened, and Crowley joined his husband on the porch. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, unafraid to show the swatches of scales coating his back and ribcage now that he knew there were no prying human eyes. This was, without doubt, the unforeseen consequence of moving which Aziraphale appreciated the most. 

“Sleep well?” the angel asked, placing his bookmark. 

He yawned wide, nodding. “Not bad,” he said. He looked toward the garden fence in amusement. “Effie’s awake early today.”

Aziraphale followed his gaze, seeing their daughter crouched in the long grass, creeping up on an unsuspecting blackbird. “Yes; only to get up to no good, of course,” he said with fond annoyance. 

“That’s my girl,” Crowley grinned, pouring himself some tea. “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Some talk in the village, something about the terrible lizard-man of Devil’s Dyke,” he snickered. “Some shmuck must have wandered onto our land and found one of Effie’s footprints.”

Aziraphale tensed up, his jaw dropping. “Crowley, that’s awful!” he cried. “This is precisely the reason we moved, to avoid this kind of exposure.”

He waved him off. “Calm down, this isn’t London. There are too many drugs and bored teenagers for anyone to start believing urban legends around these parts,” he said. “At worst, we’ll have to claim it’s some hoax we cooked up to bring tourists in and that’ll be the end of it.”

“You’re certain?” he said, beginning to relax back into his rocking chair.

“Positive,” he said. There was a flurry of wings near the end of the garden as a blackbird had a narrow escape from a prehistoric horror. Crowley smirked, calling down the garden. “Effie! Get closer before you jump next time!”

Aziraphale gasped, affronted. “Effie Crowley-Fell, you will do no such thing!” he cried, jumping to his feet to chase after the velociraptor as she made a put for some other unfortunate moorland animal instead. “I will not have you snacking on any old creature you find - for Heaven’s sake, you don’t know where they’ve _been!_”

Crowley cackled, leaning back with a stupid grin as Aziraphale chased the dinosaur in circles around the apple tree. The angel was demanding that she spit out whatever it was she had in her mouth; even from here, Crowley could see it was an apple, but Aziraphale wasn’t to know that. Effie was still prone to mischief now and then, and it was usually her angelic father who fell foul of her sharp mind. 

Still smiling, he shot a glance toward the pinkish horizon. “You know, I don’t usually care for your idea of a joke,” he said to Her, almost laughing at himself. A demon who spoke to God... how ridiculous. “But... you know what, I’ll give you this one. Good job, and - and thank you. I s’pose.”

He raised his cup skyward in a toast, somewhere between reluctant and genuinely grateful. He settled back into his chair, returning to the sight of his husband and daughter. His skin prickled as he tried to settle back into the rhythm of the quiet morning, feeling quite ready to never speak of his prayer again. 

_You’re welcome, Crowley, _God replied. The demon abruptly choked on his tea, breaking down into a coughing fit as Her melodious laughter rang clear across the valley.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this post from my tumblr:  
https://worse0mens.tumblr.com/post/188686121550/the-joke


End file.
